Sleigh Bell Snippets
by civilwarrose
Summary: Winter and holiday short ficlets, featuring the live-action movie characters.
1. Alphabet Blocks (Belle and Maurice)

**Alphabet Blocks- Belle and Maurice**

...

"Papa, could you spare a few pieces of scrap wood?" Belle asked her father.

"I don't suppose you plan to build something for a surprise for your Papa, do you?" Maurice replied, looking up from his workshop table.

"I can't tell you what I plan to give you for Christmas, or else I will ruin the surprise!" Belle told him with a smile on her lips. She had chosen Papa's gift already; a new set of carving knives from M. Norbert, the merchant who sold cutlery at the marketplace. "Right now, I plan to make a gift for someone else in town."

"Is that so?" Maurice asked. "Then I am glad to assist, my Belle. Help yourself to all the scrap wood you would like."

Belle gathered some of pieces of wood and sat at the workshop table next to her father, cutting into the pieces with a small saw. She soon created several little blocks. Maurice noticed her frustrated expression as she was trying to make every block uniform in shape and size.

"I can help you with that, my dear."

"Merci, Papa. I want to make twenty-six of them."

Maurice took his own whittling knife and saw and helped her cut the blocks to uniform sizes. "What is this gift you are making?" he asked her curiously.

"Alphabet blocks," said Belle. "For Gabrielle. I drew her name in the church's secret Christmas exchange. She's the little girl who wanted to learn to read. I thought I could make them for her to spell words. She could also share them with her little sister. When they are cut and sanded, I'd like to paint letters on each side of all of them."

"Wonderful idea, my Belle. And so reminiscent of your mother! She also loved to paint things and give them to children, while we were courting. It was then that I knew that I wanted her to be the mother of my future child."

"Really?" Belle's eyes went wide. She treasured each and every little anecdote about her Maman that Maurice was willing to share. For years he spoke little of her, but lately, he was much more likely to open up about those memories.

"What kinds of things would she paint?" Belle asked her father.

"Cats," Maurice replied. "When we married, I got her a kitten she named Celie. A little calico. She loved to sketch her with her pencil whenever she had the chance. She often dabbled in artwork on the front staircase of our old home in Paris, and children would watch her. So she'd gladly draw some of the portraits of Celie, and give them away."

"Whatever happened to Celie?"

"One day she ran away and never came back. Your Maman was devastated. It was around the time she was expecting you," Maurice said sadly.

Belle was quiet for awhile, thinking about yet another aspect of her mother's life, the mother she had never had the joy of knowing. For the next few hours, Belle sanded the alphabet blocks, and then painted letters on them with bright colored paint.

...

The next morning was the twenty fourth of December, Christmas Eve Day. Belle had taken the blocks she had made and put them in a wicker basket, tied with a red ribbon. She donned her new blue and red Christmas dress and red shawl, and decided to take her little gift directly to Gabrielle's parents' home.

It was a lovely, sunny midwinter day in Villeneuve. The streets were a little slippery from slushy snow, and as wagons and carts rolled by, their wheels threw drops of melting slush that people darted to avoid. Belle stopped to listen as a group of carolers sang near the fountain in the town square. Among the little group of carolers was Pere Robert, the clergyman and the kindest man Belle knew in the village. He sang in a rich baritone, his voice leading the others.

Also in the choir were Jean Potts the potter, Madame Bordeaux the tavern keeper's wife, Madame Rubans the ribbon seller, Tom the blacksmith, and the bow-tied younger fellow- _LaRue? Lemeiux?_ Belle didn't remember his name, but she knew him to be Gaston Legume's constant companion. She glanced around quickly and saw that Gaston was nowhere to be found. She breathed a sigh of relief, enjoying the lovely display of vocal music. Besides Pere Robert's deep voice, Madame Rubans had the loveliest soprano, and Gaston's friend's bright tenor hit the same high notes as the ladies' voices.

After listening to two songs, Belle took a few tiny coins from the pocket of her dress and placed it into the money basket, sitting in the snow beside Pere Robert.

"Merci, Mademoiselle! Joyeux Noel, and God bless you!" Pere Robert said with a wide smile.

"Joyeux Noel to all of you!" Belle replied.

The carolers took a break from singing. As Belle walked away, she heard one of the men, Tom the blacksmith, say to one of the others, "Surprised she's not running around with 'er nose in a book today."

"I declare! She's beyond odd!" a lady said in a conspiratorial whisper.

Belle quickened her steps and walked away briskly, swinging her basket bearing Gabrielle's Christmas gift. She was not going to let people's narrow-minded criticism get her down.

She found the Valois family's cottage quickly, a small two story. The Valois' lived in the bottom floor, and their door was decorated with one of the red ribbons that Madame Rubans had been selling. Since the gift exchange was secret, Belle decided to give a quick knock on the door, set the basket on the step, and dart away. She joined the crowd of busy villagers, standing near the baker's stand.

She watched as Madame Valois opened the door, with Gabrielle behind her. They gathered the basket and closed the door. Belle felt a warm feeling in her heart, a swell of Christmas cheer as she walked back home.

"Hello Papa!" she greeted Maurice, still busy carving a music box at his work table.

"Just in time, ma petite. I finally got the notes to work! Listen!" Maurice turned the crank and played the melody. The newest music box played _Bring a Torch, Jeanette_ _Isabella._ It featured a tiny figure of a girl ice skating.

 _"_ It's wonderful, Papa! Who are you going to give it to?"

"I don't know, Belle. I had planned to sell it, but if it doesn't sell here in Villeneuve, perhaps it will be yours," said Maurice. "And by the way, there is something- or someone- _else_ who just arrived a few minutes ago. Look in your room upstairs." He grinned.

"Someone? _Please_ don't let it be Monsieur Gaston Legume," Belle replied, making a face of dread.

"I assure you it isn't," said Maurice. "Someone much smaller."

Belle rushed upstairs to her bedroom. She heard a tiny little 'meow' sound, and her heart leaped with joy.

"A kitten?"

The little grey cat rushed to Belle's ankles, rubbing against her feet. Belle picked it up. "Hello, there!" she greeted. Someone had brought the kitten to Belle to be her gift for the exchange.

She wondered who it could have been. She recalled that Pere Robert had a grey female cat in the chapel, and she had looked to be expecting a litter. It could have been him, but she knew that the giver had to be kept a secret.

Belle took the soft kitten in her arms and went downstairs to Maurice. "I wish I could thank the person who brought me this kitten! Now, is it a boy...or a girl?" she wondered aloud.

"I don't know," said Maurice. "Perhaps just give your new pet a name suitable for both genders."

"It's light grey," said Belle. "Perhaps I could call it 'Fumée.' It is a smoky color."

"Sounds good to me," said Maurice with a smile. "Now, I think I'll be done with my work for the day. How about we cook up that goose and potatoes together?"

"Sounds wonderful, Papa!" exclaimed Belle. "You and I will have the coziest Christmas Eve, just you and me, and Fumée, of course. I purchased a nice loaf of bread when I was out. And a few chocolates!"

"Merci, Belle. We will indeed have the best Christmas!" Maurice gathered his daughter, still holding her new kitten, in his arms.

...

 _A.N. This was a gift fic I had written for someone on Tumblr, and for the members of Bittersweet and Strange, a Beauty and the Beast fan forum. Happy Holidays! :)_


	2. The Orphan (Gaston and Lefou)

**The Orphan- Gaston and Lefou**

…

"Papa, can he join us for Christmas? Please? He doesn't have anyone except Maman and me."

Thirteen-year-old Étienne Lefou pleaded with his father, Jacques, to allow Gaston to join his family for Christmas. The problem was that the other boy- now fourteen- was developing a reputation as a troublemaker. Monsieur Durand's schoolhouse window had recently been broken by someone shooting a musket ball through it during the night. Everyone in Villeneuve had a fairly good idea who the culprit was.

Jacques, the town candlemaker, paused in his painting of a silver Christmas candle to glance at his son with a conflicted look. "Étienne, did Gaston confess to breaking Monsieur Durand's window yet? And pay him for the damage?" he asked.

"Uh, no. But he said nobody can prove it, Papa. Nobody saw him doing it," Lefou replied, in defense of his best friend.

"Well, son- I hate to say this, but Gaston Legume isn't growing up to amount to much. He quit school, and he runs wild, causing all kinds of trouble. The banker said that Gaston beat up his son. And if there's one thing I don't like, it's bullies."

"But Papa, the banker's son started it. He said mean things to him!"

"Étienne," Jacques fixed his calm gaze over his son. "The Good Book says 'love your enemies.' Turn the other cheek, and don't use violence. Gaston isn't obeying the Golden Rule or behaving himself. I don't think he's a very good influence on you."

Lefou frowned at his words, then opened his mouth to plead Gaston's case some more. "But if he spends Christmas Day in his house alone, he might get really mad, and shoot someone _else's_ window out. And-"

The boy's eyes widened, realizing he had said too much. He clapped his hand over his mouth. "Um- I mean- if he were, in fact, inclined to _do_ such a thing..." he babbled.

His mother Jeanne entered the room, hearing the tail end of their conversation. "Étienne! So you _know_ he did it! Were you with him?" she asked, her voice slightly raised.

"Well, yes. We were...hunting." Lefou blushed, knowing he'd been caught as an eyewitness, or even an accessory, to vandalism.

"Hunting in the middle of _town_?" Jacques pressed, now growing angry.

Lefou thought for a moment and came up with a little white lie. "There were _geese!_ A flock of geese. Flying right over the town square. He kind of...missed," he said sheepishly.

"I thought that Gaston 'never misses a shot' according to you," said his father.

"The greatest hunter in the whole, wide world!" exclaimed his mother with a little laugh, gesturing dramatically with her arms.

"Okay! Okay!" Lefou said with a defeated sigh, unable to lie any more. "I guess Gaston did do it on purpose. He was angry at Monsieur Durand. He hates him because Monsieur Durand hated _him,_ and he always said he was a dunce, and stupid. How would _you_ like to go through school being called dumb by everybody? And having your parents die? Gaston never asked for a life like that. It isn't fair! Maybe I can get Gaston to confess and pay Monsieur Durand back. Maybe he just needs a second chance."

Lefou's mother smiled at him with pride. She reached down and brushed a curl of hair out of his face. "You really _are_ a good friend to him, honey. And I think you're right! He needs a second chance."

 _"If_ you can get him to confess and pay," said his father with a look of skepticism. He went back to crafting his candles. "He's fourteen now, isn't he? That means he could spend a day bent over with his head in the stockade, for a minor crime. I hope he knows that. Son, you have too soft a heart sometimes, but I _trust_ you can help him come clean."

"I can! I can try to help him!" Lefou said eagerly.

…

As Lefou left his parents' cottage and headed across town on the way to Gaston's house, he saw an interesting spectacle. A man was being pushed along- nearly dragged, in fact, by two other men gripping him by the arms on either side. It was only the town drunk, Henri. He was likely passed out in the square, causing an eyesore for all of the shoppers in the market.

Lefou watched him being taken to the stocks. The two men severely yanked Henri's arms back, opened the wooden bar of the stockade, and forced Henri to bend forward. They locked his head and hands in the contraption with a loud 'clap' of the bar. As they left, Henri whined like a child and tried to writhe and wiggle out of it, but it was hopeless. Children passed by and laughed at him. Lefou felt sorry for him.

Just then, Lefou spotted a familiar figure approaching. His heart sped up a little at the sight of the tall boy, now looking very much like a man. His black hair was combed back neatly, a few snowflakes settling upon his coiffure. His face was rosy red from the crisp midwinter chill. He regarded Lefou with a wide smile and laughing eyes.

"Lefou! There you are!"

"Gaston!" Lefou quickened his steps and rushed happily to his best friend's side, clutching his arm around the elbow. Gaston gave Lefou a slight push away.

"You're too clingy," he muttered.

"Sorry."

"Don't be sorry, just try not to be so...weird. You _know_ what happens in this town to those who are odd." Gaston regarded the unfortunate Henri, and his punishment, with a narrowed gaze. "He'll never learn, will he?" he said haughtily.

"Gaston...that could be _you_ next," Lefou said in a tone of warning. "Because of what you did to M. Durand and the schoolhouse window. You should make amends. Why don't we go to him together? We-"

"Lefou, what are you going on about?" Gaston said dismissively.

"It's true, Gaston. Vandals can be locked in the stockades, too. You're old enough for adult punishment."

"How do you know?"

"My Papa said so. He knows all the town's laws."

Lefou watched Gaston's haughty look turn solemn as he glanced over at drunken old Henri. A boy was walking up to the convict, putting the remains of his stale bakery baguette on the poor man's head. It would likely attract birds.

Gaston clenched his jaw a few times. He looked to Lefou as if he were thinking very hard. After a moment, he regarded Lefou with a bitter expression.

"Fine! Let's go talk to the old bat," he said in a low tone. "I'll go home and get some of my parents' inheritance money for him."

…

Gaston stood reluctantly, letting Lefou knock on Monsieur Durand's door. The headmaster opened it; he regarded the boys with a sour expression.

"Yes?" he growled.

Gaston shifted his eyes back and forth, glancing from M. Durand to Lefou, who gave him a wide-eyed 'Well?' look. Gaston looked back at the headmaster and cleared his throat.

"Monsieur Durand...I have forty livres in my pocket to give to you...to pay for your broken window-"

"You shot out my window, didn't you, Legume?" Durand spat.

"Yes...I did. I'm-" He glanced back at Lefou for moral support. Lefou gave him an encouraging nod.

"Sorry. I'm _sorry_ for shooting your window," Gaston said, forcing the words out uncomfortably. "Here's forty livres." He took out the bag of coins and handed it over to the man. M. Durand counted the coins, his face in its usual scowl.

"Forty...that is much more than enough to pay for the window. I-" His expression softened as he looked at Gaston. "My sister has been sick, and her husband can't pay the doctor bill, and this...will help. Your apology is accepted."

"Thank you," said Gaston, relief coming over his face.

"Joyeux Noel!" both Gaston and Lefou exclaimed to the headmaster as they turned and ran away.

"Joyeux Noel," Monsieur Durand called to the boys, gripping the money bag. He smiled in relief. To think that the extra gift he needed to help his sister had just come in the form of that incorrigible Legume boy!

…

Lefou was overjoyed that Christmas morning. Besides getting a new ribbon bow tie from Maman and a whittling knife from Papa, he had managed to make a present for Gaston.

Gaston had said that he liked the smell of pine trees. Lefou remembered that detail, and had quickly run to the general store to buy a tub of lye, then to the butcher's to ask for some discarded animal lard. He then made bars of homemade soap, just like Maman had taught him. He took pine needles and tree sap and mixed them into the soap, along with some green color dye like Papa used to make pine scented candles. He wrapped the soap bars in brown paper, just like the storekeeper's. He also decided to give Gaston his hunting knife, since he never used it anyway.

The smell of his Maman's croquembouche cake baking in the cast iron stove made the little house heavenly. A knock came at his door and he ran to open it. "Gaston!" he exclaimed. The taller boy came in with a wide smile, his arms full of gifts.

"Hello, Gaston! _Joyeux Noel_!" exclaimed Jeanne, Lefou's mother. "Come and sit down, boys." She let Gaston sit on the rocking chair in the tiny family room, the only good comfortable chair in the cottage. The only other places to sit were wooden benches around the creaky kitchen table. She stoked up the fireplace and put on a kettle of tea. "I'll get the croquembouche cake balls out in a few minutes!"

Gaston took one of the gifts and held it out to her. "For you, Madame. For being the best housemaid our family ever had."

Jeanne unwrapped the gift and gasped in joy. "Gaston! You shouldn't have! This must have cost a... thank you so much!" She went to hug the boy, who had become almost like her own son after he had lost both his parents and became the sole heir of his large manor home.

"You're welcome. You deserve it," said Gaston. He had bought her a jar of the apothecary's expensive skin cream, to put on her hands. Jeanne spent long hours at Gaston's house, cleaning and sweeping and scrubbing. Her hands were often red and dry from all the domestic work she did.

"And Monsieur Jacques, this is for you," Gaston said, presenting Lefou's father with a gift. It was a set of dinner table candles- and they weren't just the candlesticks. They were ensconced in bases plated in real gold. "Twelve carat," Gaston said as Jacques studied the candlesticks with a look of awe.

"They're like the kind the royals use! The Prince must have candles like these at his chateau!" Jacques exclaimed.

"Gaston-" Jeanne said in concern, "Those candlesticks were the ones your parents had on their dining room table. Why would you want to give them away? They are worth so much, wouldn't you want to keep them for your future bride someday?"

Gaston shrugged. "I have no use for them. They just gather dust."

" _Merci_ , Gaston. We appreciate your kind thoughts of us very much," said Jacques. "I'll set them on the table and light them for when we have dinner." He gave Jeanne a loving smile.

Gaston finally gave Lefou a parcel wrapped in brown paper, with a red ribbon. "This is for you. My best, most loyal friend." He watched his friend tear open the paper, and Lefou gave a rather unmanly squeal of delight when he saw what it was.

"A hat just like yours! Except red!" Lefou secured the bright red tricorne hat over his longish mess of dark curls. It was a dressy hat, made of a soft velvety material. He'd admired the black one Gaston wore, and now he had one even more colorful. Gaston even knew his favorite color.

"Thank you so much, Gaston! You've been so generous to us!"

Gaston looked at the three of them with a slightly embarrassed, wistful expression. He blinked his eyes a few times.

"You're the best family in Villeneuve. You all deserve it," he said, shrugging as to not appear too mushy.

"Oh, Étienne, you look like a handsome boy in that! Like a little soldier," Jeanne gushed, giving her son a warm hug. "I bet in a few years, the girls will start to go crazy over you!"

Lefou made a face while his mother wasn't looking. _Girls?_ What are girls? His heart was claimed already; it was full to bursting with feelings for the tall boy sitting before him.

"Gaston, open your present from _me_!" said Lefou, trying to put a lid on his merry enthusiasm. He rushed to get the basket hidden behind a bench, and plopped it in his friend's lap.

"Soap?" Gaston said. He smelled one of the bars. "Pine scented soap. I like it! And a hunting knife?" He grinned brightly. "Thank you Lefou! You're the best!"

Lefou beamed, his heart rate soaring and a giddiness sweeping over him. He gazed at Gaston's proud smile, and even dared to dream that he saw a spark of admiration in the other boy's hazel eyes. It was the look he lived for.

"Étienne, isn't that the hunting knife I gave you when you were eleven?" asked Jacques. His father's question burst Lefou's little bubble of joy for a moment.

"Yeah. It is, but I'm no good at slaughtering animals," Lefou said sheepishly. "It'll be a lot better in Gaston's skilled hands." He felt his cheeks burning up, but hoped that would be attributed to the wood-burning fireplace nearby.

His father shrugged. "Well, put to good use, then, I guess."

"Étienne, you're such a good and kind boy. Such a dear friend!" Jeanne said, going over to her son and giving him a hug and kiss on his flushed cheek. "Do you boys want some croquembouche now? I think it's ready to be put together with the sugar. You can all help me!"

"Yes, Maman!" exclaimed Lefou.

…

As Gaston spent the holiday with Lefou and his parents, he couldn't help but feel a bit envious. Sure, he had an inheritance and a big house, but Lefou had parents who were alive, loving and accepting. They even gave Gaston a second chance that Christmas- something the boy was not used to having from adults in his life. He had, somehow, made a good decision. He had listened to Lefou's advice, fessed up to the headmaster, and he was rewarded by the chance to spend Christmas with an actual family.

The threat of the humiliating stockade was part of it. What was more, he hated to admit it, but he _needed_ the approval of Lefou's parents. If they also forbid Lefou to hang around with him, just like his other friends' parents did, he would be completely alone.

Perhaps he could turn his life around for better. Become admired and praised, instead of being the town's young hooligan. Today, he had made a big step towards 'good.'

As he glanced at his shorter friend, who was now helping to assemble a sticky sugary croquembouche and eating pieces in the process, Gaston was happy to feel he had someone almost like a brother. Sure, Lefou wasn't the most aggressive or manly fellow in the world, maybe a little clingy, and a bit over-enthusiastic, but he was all Gaston had.

Just like family.

...

 _A.N.- Thank you again to TrudiRose. It was fun to bounce around ideas about backstories with you!_


	3. Castle Christmas (Potts Family)

**Castle Christmas (Potts Family, Belle and Adam)**

...

Chip ran excitedly down to Prince Adam's favorite parlor room that Christmas morning, the first after the breaking of the curse. The Prince and Princess, still newlyweds, were not downstairs yet. Chip spotted a pile of wrapped presents in the fireplace, where he and three other servant children- Celeste, Auguste, and Rene- had left their small shoes in the pile of ash the night before.

Mr. and Mrs. Potts followed him wearily, catching up with him as he stared into the hearth with an expression of joy. "Pere Noel came! Can I look for mine? Please, Mama?"

"Now Chip, we must be polite and wait until Master Adam and Mistress Belle come downstairs, for Christmas to start," said Mrs. Potts.

"But Christmas has already started!" argued Chip. "It's morning, isn't it?"

"Yes, but the gift opening has always _officially_ started once the Prince and Princess open their gifts first. Would you like to come into the kitchen with me? We have the most delicious blocks of cheese that I'm going to cut up to put in the pans of quiche. You can eat some for an early breakfast. And I believe there's some cookies left from last night."

"All right Mama. I hope Belle and Adam come down soon!"

Jean. Beatrice, and their small son happily went to the grand kitchen, the countertops clean and shiny. The place had been tidied up by the maids; they had urged Beatrice to join last night's celebrations around the castle instead of cleaning the kitchen.

"It was almost a gift in itself for them to do this for me!" she said in relief. "Jean, love, could you stoke up the fire so I can get the kettles on?"

"Of course, dear," Jean said in a loving tone. He had spent the last weeks at his pottery shop in Villeneuve, creating beautiful vases and pitchers. He had wrapped up his finest ones as gifts for Adam and Belle. Several servants also purchased his creations to give to each other. Now that the curse was over, his business was booming and every day was different now. Jean's pottery reflected the changes, he'd been making them much more colorful. He was even teaching little Chip how to make simple pots which he fired in his kilns and brought back to the castle for Chip to paint. He hoped to apprentice his seven-year-old someday.

Chip looked in wonder at the shiny pans and pots and utensils hanging in the kitchen. "Can I help? Can I use this?" he said, taking a copper kettle down and tapping it rhythmically with his knuckles, making loud bangs like a bell.

"Chip! Shh!" scolded Mrs. Potts. "You'll wake everyone!"

"But I _want_ everyone awake so we can start Christmas!" he argued. Beatrice shook her head at her son as she sliced Camembert and Brie cheese from the wheels from the cold storage room. Soon, Monsieur Cuisiner and his handful of assistant chefs came in and started the eggs, the onions and other vegetables. Within twenty minutes of helping hands, pans of quiche and fresh breads were baking in the great ovens.

Chip glanced out the kitchen door and spotted Belle and Adam walking past, in the hallway to the parlor. "They're here!" he exclaimed.

The Prince and Princess had arrived, and with them other servants, such as Cogsworth, Lumiere, and their significant others, Clothilde and Plumette. Soon, the parlor was crowded as each servant strained to watch Belle and Adam exchange their first Christmas gifts to each other as a married couple.

Adam's gift for Belle was a brand new copy of one of Belle's favorite Shakespeare stories- _The Tempest,_ with a gold embossed cover and illustrations. "Will you read it to me? For old times' sake?" the Prince asked his wife with a twinkle in his eyes.

"I'd love to, Adam. Beginning this afternoon! Besides just reading a work of Shakespeare, I'd like to put on a play. _The Tempest_ is the one I'd love for us to perform."

"But what would we use to create the ship and the sea?" Adam asked.

"The Great Hall, or the foyer and staircase. And of course we could just...use our imaginations," said Belle.

"Who would direct the play?" Adam pressed, grinning.

"I could...possibly. And I'd like you to play a role. Prospero? or Antonio?" Belle suggested.

Adam laughed. "I _insist_ that I play Prospero."

The crowd of servants began to visit and mutter amongst themselves, now that Adam and Belle were having another lively Shakespeare discussion.

Belle excitedly hugged the book to her chest. "After I read this again to refresh my memory, we could have an open audition for parts. I already have in mind who I imagine to be Francisco and Adrian, the king's noble lords."

"Who would that be?" Adam asked.

"Lefou and Stanley," said Belle. She watched Adam raise his eyebrows, about to suggest something, but Belle stopped him quickly.

"I will _not_ give them the roles of Trinculo and Stefano! Don't even _think_ of it!" she exclaimed with a bit of reproach. This morning, Lefou and Stanley happened to be back in Villeneuve for Christmas, with Stanley's family.

"I apologize," said Adam. "I'd much rather they play Francisco and Adrian. I think they had enough, er- 'Trinculo and Stefano' in their past lives. That would sting a little."

Cadenza spoke up. "Since 'Stefano' is my real first name, _Mia Signora,_ I could audition for the role! Did the Stefano in the story perform the harpsichord?" he asked Belle jokingly.

"No, Maestro, but in our case, you must play it no matter _who_ you portray," laughed Belle. "And Madame, I'd love to create a part for you in which you sing during the storm and shipwreck. A sea siren, perhaps. Although Shakespeare didn't write in such a character. But I will take some creative license." Madame de Garderobe and Cadenza both laughed.

"Splendid idea! I think a castle production would be perfect entertainment for when the Marquis Charles and his wife visit us next month!" said Cogsworth.

"Who should be 'Caliban', my love?" asked Adam. "My hope is that it's Lumiere," he added, pointing to the _maître d'_ who gave a faux wicked grin.

After the giggling had subsided about Belle's plan to stage a Shakespeare play among the castle's residents, Belle raised her hands and asked for attention. She rushed to the large Christmas tree in the corner of the parlor and pulled out her gift for her husband. "Open it, quickly!" she said giddily, temporarily forgetting her decorum as the now-married Princess of the region.

Adam unwrapped the small package, bedecked with bright blue ribbons. "A book as well!" he said, beaming.

"I wrote it myself. It's poetry. Some of them are rather maudlin and silly, I'd admit, but..." She blushed. "They're from my heart. I don't profess to be Delille or de Parmy in any way."

Adam gingerly turned the pages of the little book. It was even painstakingly written in ink, in Belle's own delicate, loopy handwriting. "How did you get it bound and published like this?"

"Papa helped me," she replied, turning to a beaming Maurice.

Adam wrapped Belle in a warm embrace. "Of all the gifts I've ever recieved in my entire lifetime- toys and trinkets, and jewelry and crystal-studded velvet coats and riding helmets and fencing swords- your little book is the most wonderful Christmas present of all."

He proceeded to kiss her deeply, and as the entire staff watched them in joy, Chip Potts piped up. "Can we look in the fireplace now?"

"Go ahead, children!" Adam announced. "I think Pere Noel found his way into the castle last midnight!"

The group of children- Chip, Celeste, Auguste, and Rene, rushed to the fireplace as Cogsworth reached in and handed them the packages. Chip squealed when he saw that he had a new sled for playing outside in the snow.

"Mama, I want to go outside and ride on it now!"

"After breakfast, Chip." replied Beatrice. It was was then time to eat the scrumptious breakfast that Cuisiner, Mrs. Potts, and the other chef help had prepared. After breakfast, Chip took his new sled and started to wander to the back grounds of the castle, where the river had frozen solid and a sloping hill of snow had formed.

...

It was cold, much chillier than yesterday. Chip's nose and cheeks quickly turned red in the windchill beneath his fur hat. He found the top of the sloping hill which led to the ice of the frozen river. Chip sat on the sled, and pushed himself off.

It was slow at first, but Chip moved his hands to make the sled go faster, and soon he gained momentum. "Whoo!" he shouted, and as the sled hit the ice it careened across the river to the opposite bank- right in the path of a large tree.

Chip saw the tree trunk coming up much too fast for him to control it. With a scream of terror, he crashed. The sled tipped and he spilled over, rolling a few times and landing back on the ice, right on his head and shoulder. Pain and cold and fear wrapped around his little body, and he started to cry bitterly.

No one else had come outside with him; all of the other servants and servants' children were opening gifts and celebrating indoors in the parlor and Great Hall. He was all alone, and hurt.

His first thought was that he could be broken into pieces. For so many years, Mama had told him to be careful. He couldn't dare move, or jump, or play, in fear of being destroyed forever.

Until that evening with the kind-looking man, months ago. He had been such a naughty boy to move on the table and not stay still, like a normal teacup. But there was something about the man, Monsieur Maurice, that he trusted. And when Belle came- it was hard not to take part in the dancing and entertaining.

Then there was the battle- all of those people invading the castle. He was so terrified to see Mama actually doing the things that for years, they had been told not to do. He knew that it would be over for them. Any minute, they would be thrown to the floor and be shattered. What would happen? Would it hurt? Would everything just go black? Or could he be reborn, into a human boy again?

It turned out that he _was_ reborn as a human boy, that magical moment after he felt himself plummeting to the ground and caught by Monsieur Chapeau's skilled coat hook arms. He had arms and legs again! Mama was there, changed back into what she was supposed to look like! It had been like a dream come true. Ever since that day, the child had made certain to make up for lost time, exerting as much energy as he possibly could. Sliding down the staircase banister, climbing trees, running through the hallways. Being a small boy in a huge castle- now filled with light and love- was the best kind of life he could ever ask for.

Now, Chip looked around him. His head and his right shoulder hurt. The cold nipped at his nose and cheeks. But the winter sunshine was so beautiful, so bright, the sky a wonderful azure blue above him. The snow reflected little sparkles on the evergreen trees, the frozen river, and the high rooftops of the castle looming over him as a protective fortress, filled with the people who loved him.

Still crying, Chip moved to try to get up on his feet- and he did. His entire body was intact, but nothing was broken. He was bruised and battered, but okay. He sniffled a little, and looked back to the castle, only wanting to go back inside to his parents. He recovered his sturdy sled, tipped over by the tree unharmed. He took it by the rope and lumbered with weary steps across the pond, up the slope, dragging the sled behind him. He mustered up all his strength to carry the red wooden sled with its metal blades up the long staircase. He was so, so tired by the time he made it to the enormous double doors.

Music was playing. Chip could hear Cadenza playing the harpsichord and Madame singing. Leaving the snow-covered sled by the front entryway, Chip tiptoed into the parlor, where a few couples were dancing. Master Adam and Mistress Belle, Lumiere and Plumette, and Cogsworth and Clothilde. He spotted Mama and Papa sitting on a couch, holding cups of tea. Mama had an unwrapped present in her lap- a pretty new bonnet. Papa had some pairs of warm gloves.

"Chip! Where have you been?" Mrs. Potts exclaimed to her child, worried. "Did you run out to play with your sled all alone?" The sight of his red, tear-stained cheeks caused her alarm.

"Yes, Mama. I did. And...I crashed into a tree. My head hurts."

"You should have waited for someone to go with you, poppet," Beatrice told him. "I know that Monsieurs Lefou and Stanley aren't here...I should have asked Monsieur Michel, or Mme. Therese to go outside to watch you for awhile," she mused, feeling guilty for allowing him to disappear without adult supervision.

"But I'm okay. I didn't get broken."

Beatrice and Jean gave each other a wistful look, before Beatrice wrapped Chip in her arms and took him onto the couch between her and her husband. "Oh, love! You must never worry about being broken again. The Master and Belle, and all of us will make certain of that."

The three members of the Potts family relaxed on the couch, watching the couples dance and listening to Madame sing. Soon, Jean asked Beatrice to dance, while Chip curled up with a blanket on the couch and fell asleep, amidst all the music around him.

...


End file.
